When I was a young man, I grew up as a godless person — my mother Lily was a clairvoyant of sorts, and was always experiencing supernatural visitations at our home or wherever she went.
Of Welsh-Malay heritage, her unique ability to sense spirits affected most of us, particularly my elder sister Cynthia.
Even though they were Christians, my parents — both orphans — were brought up as Buddhists in a Chinese-Thai community in Ipoh, Perak.
Since my father John Ritchie was a senior police officer, we accompanied him whenever he was transferred and I found that two of our homes, particularly in Malacca and Kuching, were haunted.
When we were at Bukit Peringgit in Malacca, Cynthia often spoke of being visited by an old Indian lady late at night who would sit at the edge of her bed and comb her long black hair.
To ensure that the old lady meant no harm, my mother would say, “Don’t worry, auntie is just keeping an eye on you to make sure you go to sleep.”
With that explanation, Cynthia slept and shortly after, the old lady did not appear again.
Later, we learnt that the old colonial residence, which was used by the Japanese during the occupation, was built next to a Chinese cemetery and was famous for strange encounters.
When my father was the chief police officer of Kedah and Perlis in the 1960s, spirits continued to follow the family — once, when my mother was driving along a lonely lane, she encountered a Malay lady in white kebaya (a traditional blouse-dress combo) crossing the road.
Stopping her car with the headlights on, she told us the story about how she had allowed the lady, believed to be a langsuir (also known as pontianak or vampire) to float past to the rice fields across the road and then fly off into the sky.
I too experienced a personal encounter with an unidentified flying object in Kuching at the old cemetery near the Sarawak Club in 1969.
On a moonlit night, I was sitting with a pretty girl near a gravestone on a hill near the club when we spotted a ball of fire 100 yards away at the present Jalan Budaya roundabout.
It danced around for several seconds, floating up 30 feet and then down before shooting off like a rocket into the sky. We left immediately!
The spirits continued to follow the family to Kuching when we moved into a colonial house behind Fort Margherita — adjacent to the yard where condemned prisoners were executed.
We would often hear footsteps going up and down the creaky wooden staircase, or someone moving around in the music room on the ground floor where we kept our piano.
It reached a stage where my father had to employ the services of a Malay bomoh (shaman) who after the exorcising exercise, pulled out two 15ft-long white cobras from under the flowerpot stand in front of the house.
After reciting some Islamic verses, the cobras, deemed ‘friendly spirits’, were then set free in a nearby jungle.
The house continued to be haunted till the late 1990s when it was occupied by Commissioner Datuk Yusoff Jaafar, who told me the story of a policeman at the guard post who was slapped when he tried to climb a coconut tree within the premises.
My last encounter with the spirits was in early 1970 after the Higher School Certificate examinations when I volunteered to work at the rubber resettlement scheme in Skrang.
During that time, the Iban longhouse there came under the spell of a female spirit called hantu koklir — the ghost of a woman who had died during childbirth.
It happened after a young lady had died during childbirth, following which an elderly man claimed he was attacked by a koklir who went for his genitals. Shortly after, he fell ill and died from what appeared to be a testicular problem.
The following night, shotgun-armed men led by the manager of the rubber scheme, the manang (shaman) with offerings and village headman headed for the cemetery.
Armed with my .22 rifle, I joined the group as we trudged along the muddy jungle path to the grave. Then we heard the cries of the koklir — kok, kok, kok, kok, kok, kok!
We were tensed until we realised that the cries came from a bird commonly found near jungle graveyards.
The shaman chanted prayers and following the exorcising ritual, everyone was satisfied that the spirit had been appeased.
Back at the longhouse that night, I dreamt about pretty damsels turning into old witches and vampires but it was comforting to know that at least one spirit in Skrang had been laid to eternal rest.
After becoming a Christian many decades later, we learnt that there are celestial beings such as angels sharing the world we live in.
On reflection, I wonder if whatever my mother, sister and I saw were just a figment of our imagination? Or were they real spirits and ghosts?
The views expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the New Sarawak Tribune.
